


All His Things Are In Boxes

by youlostpleiad



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Can be a she/he/they whatever you want, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Gender Neutral as in there are no pronouns, Other, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 10:51:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19439947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youlostpleiad/pseuds/youlostpleiad
Summary: You lose him in the snap. Five years later he comes back. But getting there is hard.





	All His Things Are In Boxes

**Author's Note:**

> For about a week I went to sleep with this fic playing in my head, so I just wrote it! I love Sam Wilson and I’ve been meaning to write for him for a while, this fandom is lacking Sam fics tbh. This is my first Sam fic and I hope you enjoy it 💕

_ "We've gotta go to Wakanda, there was a spaceship in New York earlier and there's a high chance we'll get more soon. I know we had plans, baby, but-"  _

_ "It's your job. I know. Sam, it's not your fault, you can't choose when the world's gonna need you. But! I haven’t seen you in 2 months so you go save the world, Falcon, and then you get your ass home, yeah?"  _

_ "Yeah."  _

_ "And Sam?” _

_ “Yes, beautiful?” _

_ “Don't get yourself killed."  _

_ "I got a pretty good reason not too,” he chuckles, “I love you."  _

_ "I love you too, sweetheart. Now go be a hero."  _

The alarm goes off in your nightstand. You stretch one arm out and the bed is empty. It's empty and cold and no one's slept there for a year. But you dreamt of his voice on the phone that day. You dreamt of it again and it was enough to make you forget, to make you hope. 

These are the worst kind of nightmares, the ones that don't start until you wake up.

**

"You should go on a date," Steve tells you.

"I feel like we've had this conversation before, Steven." 

"Don't you  _ Steven _ me. It's been two years, I know it still hurts. I know it will always hurt, I know. But do you think he'd want you to keep yourself from being happy?" 

And he wouldn’t. No, Sam wouldn’t have. He probably would have found you a date himself if he was here, but that’s just the thing. If Sam was here then you wouldn’t have to go on a date in the first place. 

You met when you were kids. Loved him from the very first second the two ran around the playground, when you tried to climb a tree and fell and he kissed your scraped knee. Loved him even when you were teenagers dating someone else, when all that was over and you finally had the courage to kiss him. Loved him when his tours were over, when he closed off and both had to learn to love again. You didn't have to go on a date to find out there wasn’t anyone else who could ever compare. Why bother? Why try to replace something so pure as what you and Sam had? That’s what it was like between the two of you. Pure. Two souls so tightly stitched together that to pull them apart was to break them, to tear them down and destroy them. That’s what it was like to you. You survived, yes, but you can’t call what you’re doing living. The thought of opening your heart to someone else made it hurt, made it burn, beat so fast it was if it was screaming at you  _ no, no, no, no.  _

You couldn't tell Steve all that though. He'd tell you to move on, to at least try, and you wouldn't. He was right but you couldn't. So you throw his words at him instead.

“Sharon went too and how many dates have you been on, Steve?”

“Low blow.”

“You’re quite tall, I’d say that’s at least a medium height blow,” you tell him, and he rolls his eyes.

“I’ve been on three dates,” he says with a smug smile, over his coffee cup.

You roll your eyes at him, “Of course you have.”

“So can I set you up?”

“No, I’m not ready.”

**

_ He comes through the door, dirty and tired looking. He walks straight into your arms, tucks his head into the crook of your neck, breathes you in slowly.  _

_ “I missed you. I missed you so much,” he says. _

_ “Me too, I- ,” you try tightening your arms around him, but there’s nothing to hold, he’s turning to dust your arms, “Sam? Sam?” _

You sit up in bed with your breath caught in your throat. Tears start filling your eyes. He was starting to be gone even in your dreams. 

You walk up to the closet and take out the hoodie. His favourite hoodie, the one you haven’t had the heart to wash yet. It used to smell like him but it doesn’t anymore, not after 3 years being worn just by you. But it’s still the closest you can get to being hugged by him again. So you keep it, despite the smell being gone, despite it being dirty, because Sam’s not there to hold you. What else are you meant to do?

All his things are in boxes, half the pictures there too, you were meant to throw it all away, or give it away. ‘Boats don’t leave the port without lifting their anchors’ your therapist had said. She never mentioned that anchors exist for safety, to keep boats from drifting away. The house feels empty without his clothes in the closet, his books on the shelves. But to keep things was unhealthy, she said. So there everything is, stuck in boxes, all but his hoodie that you soak in tears most nights. 

Tonight is no different. You lost him 3 years ago but the tears still sting your eyes with the same strength, still burn your skin rolling down your cheeks. They’re never gonna stop. The tears will keep coming, because this is it. Your bed will always be half empty. You’ll never feel the comforting heat of his hands on you. Not on your back at night, or your face pulling you in for a kiss. He’ll never press himself against you again or kiss your neck or your forehead. You miss it. All of it, you miss it desperately. 

**

“Set me up, Steven.”

“Really? After four years? You’re ready now?”

“Why not it’ll be great.”

Truth be told you don’t want to go, but you hate being so lonely all the time. You relented, maybe it won’t be terrible. Maybe you won’t be disappointed.

-

When you come home that night the pain of losing him is sharper than ever. He’s incomparable, you realised halfway through dinner. Not that you didn’t know it already, but it has never been clearer. 

There’s not a second date. In fact, you don’t entertain the idea of dating a second further.

**

Your phone chimes on the counter. 

**Steve**

_ We may have found a way. _

_ We've been working on it for a while and we're trying today. _

**You**

_ Are you messing with me? _

**Steve**

_ I wouldn’t. Not about this. _

**You**

_ It’s been 5 years Steve. _

**Steve**

_ I know, I’ll do my best, we all will. I wanted you to know. _

**You**

_ Tell me if it works? _

**Steve**

_ You'll be the first I call. _

Hope, hope is a dangerous thing. Knowing that doesn't stop it from blooming in your chest.

-

You're making dinner when the tv catches your ear and you start paying attention. 

The Avengers Compound has been destroyed.

You shouldn't have hoped. 

-

You're in bed that night, in Sam's hoodie, tears falling down your face because you don't even know if Steve is alive now, when there's a knock at the door. You don't want to go. No. You don't have the will, he said there was hope and then the Avengers Compound was attacked by spaceships and you hadn't had the heart to keep watching the news. 

You got out of bed though, you hadn't heard from Steve yet and it could be him. 

You weren't ready for him to be waiting on the other side of the door.

"Sam?" 

"Hey," he has a tired smile on his lips. His face still dirty from the fight, everywhere except around his eyes where he used his goggles, even the wings are still on, "Can I come in?" 

And to hear his voice, not in a video, not in your memories or your dreams, it makes your chest hurt with how fast your heart is beating.

"Of course you can," and you have to fight the tears welling in your eyes again, because this is too much. Seeing him again makes you feel too much, brings back happiness you didn't know you were still capable of.

He walks in and looks around, like it's a foreign place, and you suppose it is. It’s different, not a lot but enough.

"You painted that wall," he says pointing to the one where the tv is mounted on.

"You always said it would look better if it was grey." 

"I was right," he tells you with a grin.

"You were," you smile something soft at him.

His voice cuts through the silence, "I'm gonna be real with you,” a flash of hurt crossing his features, “the way I remember it, 6 hours ago I was on the phone with you, about to get on a plane to Wakanda. Steve said that was 5 years ago. And I love you, but I don't know what life you built yourself in that time, so if you want me to go I'll go." 

"I don't," you say. Too quickly perhaps, but you don’t care. Having him back is the only thing you’ve wanted for 5 years. 

"No?"

"No," you walk up to him and wrap your arms around his torso, "Please don't go," the tears you were holding back start falling. “I’m gonna cry a lot by the way.”

"That’s okay,” he smiles hugging you tighter, “this hoodie is disgusting," he says after a few moments of silence, and it startles a laugh out of you. 

"I couldn't wash it," you say against the skin of his neck, "it was your favourite, and- I don't know. If I washed it I was washing you away from it too and I couldn't do it." 

"We can wash it now." 

"In the morning," you tell him, "when I wake up and I'm sure you're really here." 

He asks you hesitantly if he can kiss you. You pull his face towards yours. Your lips touch someone else's for the first time in years, and it lights a fire inside you. Brings back the life that was stolen from you all that time ago. It’s messy. And desperate. And it’s perfect, every bit of it is perfect, because it’s him.

“I should shower,” he tells you after he pulls away.

You find him a pair of your sweats and a shirt that will fit him. You take a box of his clothes and put them in the washing machine, before going to the kitchen, continuing the food you’d left hours before. 

It’s peaceful in your heart again. You’d forgotten what that feels like.

-

“You really should have gotten rid of all this stuff,” he tells you later when you show him all the boxes.

“But if I had you’d have nothing now.”

“But this isn’t healthy, you should have seen a therapist, they would have told you as much.”

“She did, I just didn’t listen.”

“Of course you didn’t,” he says pulling you into his arms, “you’re gonna keep going, you know?”

“But I have you back I don’t-”

“Need too? Baby. Having me back doesn’t erase all the trauma you went through.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t remember this being so easy.”

“I don’t- Sam, I’m not gonna waste time arguing. I was gonna agree in the end so why fight? I’ve lost too much time already.”

-

Later when you’re both in bed he presses himself against your back, holds you tight and close. It’s warm, comfortable and safe, and you missed it desperately.

“I love you,” you say. You spent too long not getting too.

He says it back, kisses the back of your neck and takes your hand in his. You fall asleep like that with a smile on your face. A real one. It’s nice to have those back.

-

You wake up before he does. Turn gently in his arms, he’s fought a battle, he needs to rest. He’s there. It wasn’t a dream. You watch him sleep, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the peaceful expression on his face, his long lashes. He’s like a dream come true. And you suppose he is. For the first time in years he’s there, right next to you. You can feel him, touch him, he’s your dream come true. 

Maybe it’s time to wash his hoodie.


End file.
